Keeping the Peace (10 page)

“I’ve got
The Thirteenth Warrior
downloaded,” Peter said.

“Well, there you have it,” said John, putting the last pan away. “No end of opportunity.”

Gabriel spoke up. “I saw a piano in the other room. I can play. That I can do. Can I play and sing for you?” Above all, Strand was a performer.

“Oh, wow!” whooped Emmie, sounding just like her mother. “Wow!”

“I’m sure it needs tuning,” said Melanie apologetically, “but we would love to hear you sing.”

The family filed into the little-used sitting room off the dining room, carrying the kerosene lamps and several candles. It was a sedate room, more formal than the front room, where people usually congregated. In this room, Melanie had hung some of the old family paintings and photographs. The piano was in this room, as well as two tall bookcases full of books. The walls were painted a calm butter color, and contrary to the rest of the house, where the curtains were either absent or sheer, the drapes in this room were heavy embroidered crewel work, pulled shut against the storm and the cold of winter.

Melanie set one of the kerosene lamps on the piano and turned up the wick to illuminate the keys. Then she sat down beside the girls on the comfortable old sofa. Peter and his father sat in the big wing chairs. Michael leaned gracefully in the doorway. Strand settled himself on the piano bench and lightly touched the keys. Melanie noticed a change in the young man’s demeanor. It was easy to see that here was the forum where he was comfortable.

“I play for my mother and sister sometimes like this,” he said. “Just me and the piano. After my father died, sometimes it was the only way to get my mother to stop crying.” No one said anything, and he said in a happier tone, “I try to do as much for them as I can. Hey, you know what I did? I bought my sister a horse! She’s always loved horses.” He had begun to fiddle with the keys. Little melodies escaped here and there as he talked.

“Really!” Melanie exclaimed. “We have horses. Does your sister show?”

“She does that dressage thing, mostly, I think,” said Gabriel. “Her horse’s name is Above the Clouds. She’s won a lot of ribbons.”

“I do endurance riding,” said Mia.

“Do you win?”

“Actually, yes, I do pretty well,” Mia answered.

Melanie was glad to see her daughter regaining some of herself back. The celebrity was beginning to burn off the man like early morning fog burns off a meadow.

“What’s his name?” Gabriel asked.

“Greensleeves,” answered the girl.

And now the bits of melody seemed to weave themselves together under his fingers. Real music came from the piano. Gabriel Strand was playing “Greensleeves.” He began to sing the ancient song. His voice was beautiful, possessed of the clear sweetness of a classic tenor. It was one of the loveliest renditions Melanie had ever heard, and she was truly surprised. When he finished, they were silent, mesmerized.

Emmie finally said, “That was so beautiful!”

Everyone burst into applause.

“Can you do ‘No Place to Park’?” asked Emmie.

The musician smiled widely. “I can,” he said. It was their current hit, a rock ballad. “It’s one of my own favorites that I’ve written. It’ll be a little different without the bass or percussion, sort of Gabriel Strand unplugged.”

He sang the song. It showcased his voice, and they were all charmed. He sang another and then another. She felt she could have sat there until the morning, but Melanie noticed her daughter’s pained expression. She stood and crossed the room to stand beside Strand. Putting a hand lightly on his shoulder, she said to everyone, “It’s almost eleven o’clock. With the power still off, the house is going to cool down. The best place for everyone is bed—especially you, Miss Mia.”

Gabriel stood up. Melanie was aware of the muscles beneath the cloth, and just for an instant, her fingers twitched, fighting the urge to caress. “I’ll be heading back to the inn, then,” he said. “I really enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you so much.”

“You must stay here tonight,” Melanie said vehemently. “It’s too dangerous to drive back to town. Power will be out all over. Probably at the inn, too.” She turned to her husband. “John, call dispatch. Find out the conditions. Really, Gabriel, I insist. John, please.”

It was the tone of her own voice that alarmed her. She caught her husband’s eyes as a drowning person might catch a towline to save themselves.

“No, really, I couldn’t impose.” The musician shook his head.

John said, “Don’t be ridiculous. If you drive off the road, it’ll mean people have to risk their necks trying to save yours. You’re here for the night.”

“John’s right,” said Melanie. “Follow me. We’ve got a very comfortable extra bedroom with its own bath. It’s probably more comfortable than the mattress Bill Noyes would have you sleeping on.” She placed her hand lightly on his forearm and led him out through the dining room to a large room at the foot of the stairs across from the foyer. “Peter,” she called back over her shoulder, “throw down one of your T-shirts and a pair of your sweat pants for Gabriel. A clean pair, please.” She stood at the bottom of the stairs and caught a black T-shirt with “The Cure” written across the chest and polar-bear printed flannel pajama bottoms. She smiled as she handed them to Strand. “Well, not high fashion, but comfortable. The bedrooms will get a little chilly tonight with no heat, but there’s a thick duvet on the bed and another quilt folded on the chair in the corner. You should be fine. Oh, and there’s a flashlight on the bedside table. Just for times like this.”

“Thank you, really,” he said. “I always loved The Cure. You make me feel like one of the family.”

“We like company here in Vermont. Sometimes the cabin fever gets maddening. Having you stay is like having my kids’ friends over.”

He looked at her then. “I’m closer to your age than theirs,” he said significantly.

The color rose in her cheeks.
This is ridiculous,
she thought to herself. “Good night, Gabriel,” she said. “I’m going up now to make sure the kids are all set. Mia doesn’t know how sore she’s going to be in the morning. John’s and my bedroom is on the other side of the house above the kitchen. If you need anything in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to yell up the stairs.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to give my mom a call. It’s not so late yet in California. I want to tell her about the baked penne and the apple pie. It’s the best meal I’ve ever had on the road. Good night.” He smiled at her and retreated into the room, closing the door.

Melanie climbed the stairs with a flashlight to check on her children.

She went into Peter’s room first. He was already in bed, bundled under his flannel-covered duvet.

“Seems like a regular person, doesn’t he, Mom?” he said.

“Well, sort of, I guess. I feel kind of sorry for him, away from his family like that.”

“Yeah, he said he missed his sister. I can’t picture it myself. I guess his sister isn’t like my sister.”

“Peter! What a thing to say!” But she smiled as she kissed him good night. “You love your sister; you know you do.”

Peter pulled the covers over his head and curled up into a ball underneath. His mother patted the lump that was him and went down the hall to Mia’s bedroom. The door was closed, so she knocked lightly.

“Mom?”

“Yes, may I come in?”

“Of course.”

Melanie went into the room and shut the door behind her. The girls were in their pajamas, sitting up together in Mia’s double bed.

Emmie said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep just knowing who’s sleeping downstairs.”

“Well, it appears he’s just a man, like every other man,” said Melanie. “He has a job, and he does it. He does seem lonely, though. I feel bad about that. Poor guy.”

“He’s cuter, though, than any other man,” Mia whispered.

“And he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Emmie replied just as quietly.

“He’s pretty cute,” acknowledged Melanie.

Mia looked uncomfortable. “Mom, I don’t feel very well. My neck hurts.”

“Mia, you ditched your collar and sling,” Melanie admonished. “You’re going to feel the effects. Grammie was right, too. No school for you tomorrow morning, no matter what the weather. Here, take this Tylenol. Emmie, you come and get me in the night if Mia’s having a lot of pain, okay?”

Emmie nodded vigorously. “Yes, I will.”

“The electricity will probably come back on before too long,” said Melanie. “Snuggle down together, and you’ll be warm enough.”

The girls scrunched down into the bed, and Melanie fluffed the big duvet over them. She kissed them both. “Try to forget who’s sleeping downstairs. Remember, he’s just another person, and it’s to our credit we were able to make him feel less lonely for at least a night.”

“This was better than going to the concert, Mom,” said Mia. “Think of it. We had him right here in our house, and he played our piano and sang just for us.”

“I’ll never, ever forget this,” said Emmie dreamily.

“Nighty-night,” said Melanie, and she closed the door behind her.

She stopped last to see her oldest child. He was sitting up in bed, playing some kind of game on his laptop. Melanie looked at him. He would always be her first baby. Oldest son was not an easy slot to occupy. She kissed him on the top of his head. “It was a foolish thing to do, but I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “Sleep well.”

Michael smiled up at her. “Night, Mom.”

When Melanie returned to the kitchen, John was stoking the stove with firewood. He turned down the dampers, saying, “The stove should keep the house at least tolerable until morning. Hopefully, the power will be back on.”

“I think it’ll be fine,” said Melanie, shutting off her flashlight. If it wasn’t, she thought, they could close off the nether regions of the home. The living room and kitchen would stay cozy and warm. She glanced out the window. The snow still swirled, but the wind had come up again, and that usually signaled the beginning of the end of a storm. She looked at the clock on the mantel. It was late, and all she could think about was getting into bed with her husband, holding him close, and ending this odd, emotional, and slightly hysterical day of snow, car accidents, and wandering minstrels.

“John, I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I was waiting for you.”

He always waited for her, she knew. “Let’s go to bed, then,” she said.

They each bent over a kerosene lamp, blowing across the chimneys to extinguish the flames. John took the flashlight from her, and they climbed the stairs together to their bedroom overhead, the dogs following close behind.

John shed his clothes quickly and climbed, naked as he always slept, into the big bed. There was no running water without the pump, so they would forgo their showers. By the light of the flashlight, he watched his wife undress. He watched her as she stepped out of her jeans and then pulled the turtleneck sweater off over her head. She unhooked her bra and tossed it carelessly onto the pile on the floor. Finally, she took off her underwear and stood naked for a brief second before throwing her long black nightgown over her head. She was beautiful, he thought to himself. Even after three children, her body was as small and fit as it ever had been. He couldn’t remember a time since he had met her that he hadn’t desired her. He lay back against his pillow while she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth with the bottled water she had set out earlier. She re-emerged and came toward the bed, a faint sweet scent about her. John lifted the covers, and she darted in under them. He pulled the blankets close around them both, reached for her, and drew her into the curve of his body.

“It seems so long since this morning, doesn’t it?” she whispered, wriggling even closer to him.

“It was a long, strange day.” Her husband sighed.

“Is it still snowing?”

“Yes, but I think it’s letting up. It’ll probably be clear by morning,” he answered.

“I hope so. We’ve got plenty of snow. Do you think the bedrooms will stay warm enough?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want the kids or Gabriel to get cold,” she said.

“They’ll be fine.”

“Are you warm enough, John? Should I get another comforter?”